


a meal for two

by Erina



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Food Service, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Romantic Comedy, Secret Identity, Wrong Number AU, tw: Akechi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:09:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28330662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erina/pseuds/Erina
Summary: Great. A wrong number. Just what he needed. A wrong number where the guy is using his sex voice to seduce his girlfriend at two in the afternoon on a Monday while Goro is stuck working at the sketchiest WcDonald’s in the whole country. Fuck that guy.“Babe?” The guy tries again.Goro goes for his coldest voice possible. “Call me that one more time.”(In which Goro works in the food service industry and Akira is a regular university student who may be approaching rank 10 on too many of his social links.)
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 30
Kudos: 353





	a meal for two

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ethyxx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ethyxx/gifts).



> Secret Santa gift for Sharon! Going to start out by saying that I think I might have tried to jam too many of your prompts into one fic rip but I hope you still enjoy it and are having a nice holiday!! I'm glad I got to meet you this year and I hope you're doing well!

“Fuck you,” Goro Akechi barks as the latest customer leaves the store with _not one, but TWO pickles._ He slams the cash register so hard that several coins come flying out. One of them falls under the counter and he does his best not to scream. Whatever. He’ll just say Kitagawa lost it.

“Yo dude, you gotta chill,” Ryuji Sakamoto says helpfully, poking his head out from the kitchen. Is that—? Yep, that’s definitely the customer’s missing pickle hanging half out of his mouth. He’s going to murder Sakamoto. “Kawakami’s saying how everyone’s too scared of you to come here.”

Goro takes a deep breath and ignores him, fishing his phone out from his apron.

Sakamoto sidles next to him like they’re best friends. He smells like mustard, burnt beef and sweat. “Whatcha looking at?”

Goro glares at him and pointedly scoots away. “How to murder someone and get away with it,” he says coldly.

Sakamoto grins. “Aw c’mon, Yusuke’s a weirdo but he’s not _that_ bad.”

“I was talking about _you_ , you buffoon—”

There’s an angry ahem and both of them turn to face a short, rich looking man standing in front of the counter, arms crossed and foot tapping rapidly.

_Fuck_ , that is definitely one of his father’s old associates. Goro never thought he’d see that chubby belly and that constipated face ever again. The last time he remembers seeing him—Tanaka? Tojo?—the guy had been shaking Goro’s hand eagerly while he spit all over Goro’s face in excitement.

Now, he—Takamiya? Toriyama?—is glaring at the two of them, which means that Goro’s disguise is working. Good. He did not purposely slather oil and grease all over his hair every morning and draw dark eyebags with a marker just for his disguise to fail anyway.

“If you two are quite done,” Tatsuya harrumphs. “I will take the medium rare organic black bean burger with two drizzles of banana sauce and four pumps of kewpie mayonnaise.

“Sir,” Goro grits out. “This is a WcDonald’s.”

Tachibana looks surprised. “I saw it on the menu before. My children showed it to me.”

_Your children are demons,_ Goro wants to yell. However, since he still wants the man to tip him, he puts on his most pleasant smile. “Oh, my apologies. You are correct. Sakamoto, get this man his medium rare organic black bean burger with exactly two drizzles of banana sauce and four pumps of kewpie mayonnaise, please.”

Sakamoto’s mouth drops open and another pickle falls out. “The what?”

Goro’s left eye twitches and he fights to keep the smile on his face. “The medium rare organic black bean burger with two drizzles of banana sauce and four pumps of kewpie mayonnaise.”

“Dude, you can repeat it all you want, I have no freaking idea what that is.” He props an elbow on the counter. “Sorry man, we don’t have that—”

Goro’s left eye twitches again and he kicks Sakamoto in the groin.

Sakamoto drops like a sack of bricks. Hm. Maybe that wasn’t quite right. Maybe he was only supposed to gently elbow him or step on his toes or something. Whatever. He blames his lack of previous meaningful human relationships for this. After his mother died, he had no use for such trivialities, devoting most of his time to getting revenge on his father—

“Is he alright?” Tsunekawa says, looking appalled. “Are _you_ alright? Your eye keeps twitching—”

“Thank you for your concern, sir,” Goro smiles, though he must not do a good job at keeping the murderous intent out because Toyama flinches. “I’ll get your burger right away, sir.”

He steps on Sakamoto’s fingers on the way to the kitchen. Just because he can.

Goro returns a couple minutes later, a burnt burger with copious amounts of mustard and cheap WcDonald’s mayonnaise slathered all over it. “Here you are, sir,” he smiles brightly. Some of the sauce is dripping out of the wrapper and onto the counter. Oh well. “As you ordered.”

Tokuda’s eyes the burger with disgust. “That looks like mustard actually—”

“Oh?” Goro’s voice goes cold and Tengan takes a couple steps back. “Surely a high-class gentleman like yourself would be able to recognize 100% authentic banana sauce grown only from the finest farms in Hawaii. My apologies, it looks like I overestimated your abilities.”

“No, I’m honored that you could recognize my culinary tastes at a glance.” Toshida puffs out his chest proudly and grabs the deformed burger and drops some bills on the counter. “Thank you greatly for your wonderful service. I will return again. Keep the change.”

Goro smiles. “Thank you for your generosity, Tartaglia.”

“Uh, my name is Joe actually—”

Goro waves him off and goes to count the money. The man tipped him twenty dollars. A quick mental calculation shows that that’s around ten _not one, but TWO pickles_ orders. Maybe another ten of these customers and he’ll finally be earning minimum wage.

When he looks up, Terasawa has left and Sakamoto is staring at him with wide eyes. “What?” Goro snaps, unceremoniously shoving the extra dollar bills into his apron pockets.

“ _Dude_ , you’re so good at bullshitting.” Sakamoto is looking at Goro like he’s the hottest shit alive. About time he noticed. Goro wakes up every morning and tells that to his reflection, right in between his morning routine of trimming his nails and chanting different voodoo curses in hopes that one of them will make his father drop dead.

Goro stares at him. “I grew up in a society where showing your true face was akin to a weakness. In order to survive, I had to bury my feelings and hide my thoughts, lest I be perceived as—”

“Cool story bro,” Sakamoto says, and then shuffles over to the soft serve machine. “Heck yeah, ice cream’s done.”

Goro bristles. “I hope you’re planning to pay for that.”

“Nope.” Sakamoto grabs a cone. “C’mon dude, don’t be stingy. You just got like three hundred dollars.”

“Twenty, and that is _my_ money. I refuse to share with the likes of you—”

The store phone rings loudly. Sakamoto takes the opportunity to take the world’s largest ice cream cone and drip all the way back to the kitchen.

Goro curses under his breath and vows to do something of equal magnitude in retaliation. Maybe he’ll set Sakamoto’s pet rat free, the one that he keeps in the storage room, the one that’s supposed to be a secret except Sakamoto won’t shut up about it.

He’s still fantasizing about having the rat dance across the pickles carton—it’s not like this place can get any more disgusting—when he hears a voice on the other end of the line. “Hey babe, did you miss me?”

Great. A wrong number. Just what he needed. A wrong number where the guy is using his sex voice to seduce his girlfriend at two in the afternoon on a Monday while Goro is stuck working at the sketchiest WcDonald’s in the whole country. Fuck that guy.

“Babe?” The guy tries again.

Goro goes for his coldest voice possible. “Call me that one more time.”

There’s silence for a couple minutes, and Goro checks the phone several times to make sure the other guy hasn’t hung up yet.

Finally, there’s awkward laughter. “Uh, are you Haru’s dad?”

Who the fuck is Haru? “No.”

“Oh. Um…” More nervous laughter. “Sumire’s dad?”

“No.”

The guy rattles off several more names. Sumire. Futaba. Hifumi. Mishima. Goro responds negatively to all the inquiries and at the end the guy sounds relieved.

“Sorry about that. Wrong number, I guess.” There’s some shuffling on the other side. “Well, thanks for staying on the line for this long—”

“Who were you calling babe?” Goro interrupts.

The other guy is quiet for a couple seconds, and then the awkward laugh is back. “Um, what?”

“You’re obviously trying to call your girlfriend.” Goro rolls his eyes. “So which one was it?”

“Um sorry, but I’m not sure how that’s any of your business.”

There’s an angry looking woman at the counter and Goro is using the phone call as an excuse to make Sakamoto take the order instead. “You’re the one who called me and piqued my interest, so take responsibility.”

“I’m not really sure that’s how it works.” And then, softly, “All of them.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said I think I might be dating all of them.” The voice sounds bashful. “I’m not sure though. It’s kind of complicated.”

Goro barks out a laugh. The woman at the counter glares at him, and he hides his middle finger behind a pack of fries. “Didn’t take you for a player.”

“You don’t know me,” the boy pouts on the other end. “It’s just… I’m kind of a pushover. And whenever they ask to hang out, it’s really hard to say no, you know? So I kind of just go with the flow.”

Goro rolls his eyes so hard they almost fall out of their sockets. “I’m sure.”

“You don’t believe me,” the boy laughs.

“I’m sure you’re the more altruistic saint to ever grace this earth,” Goro says dryly. “You clearly have no other motivations.”

“Exactly.” Goro can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not. “But anyway, Ann said that one—or maybe all—of them might confess soon, so I have to get myself together or I’ll really be dating eight people at once, and that would be kind of bad, you know?”

“Sounds fascinating,” Goro drawls as he slaps a tomato onto the burger. “Tell me more.”

The boy ends up rambling about his life problems for another thirty minutes. Honestly, Goro doesn’t really care. But it gets him out of an afternoon of talking to customers, and Sakamoto looks like he’s about to drop dead at the end of the day, so Goro counts it as a win.

He ends up hanging up on the guy during one of his vents about Hifumi’s magic circle accidents (what). Just because he can.

* * *

“Hey,” the guy says a couple days later. “It’s me again.”

The motherfucker really called five minutes before the end of his shift. “Are you going to order something?” Goro demands.

“Oh. Right.” There’s some shuffling. “I did Moogle the phone number after last time. Didn’t realize there was a WcDonald’s so close to me. Um, I haven’t really had this in years, so what would you recommend?”

Goro’s feeling less than generous so he yells to the kitchen, “Forty chicken nuggets, three large fries and six Big Wacs.”

“Well. Okay. Guess I’m getting that then.” The boy laughs. “You know I’m still trying to pay off my student loan, right?”

Why the fuck would Goro know that? “Does that mean you’re not going to tip?”

A sigh. “You’re really not that good at this whole customer service thing. You’re going to use up all the money I saved up to buy Futaba a new mouse.” There’s a pause. “Wait a minute…”

Goro doesn’t like where this is going.

* * *

A couple days later, Goro finds himself standing in front of the world’s most normal looking apartment building.

He’s not even sure how this happened. WcDonald’s doesn’t send its own employees out to deliver food, especially not WcDonald’s with only three whole workers, and _especially_ not WcDonald’s where the other two employees had to be talked out of having a juggling competition with the hamburger buns just yesterday.

But the manager, Kawakami, had made Goro deliver the food anyway. Something about knowing the customer because he helped her out during her maid days. Which, in hindsight, what the _fuck_ , but Goro had been too busy watching Sakamoto and Kitagawa stuff fries in their mouths to listen to Kawakami explain, so who knows, maybe she’s the normal one here.

Goro knocks twice on the normal looking door and steals a fry, just because he can.

The boy who opens the door is as plain as his apartment complex. Messy black hair, lopsided glasses, a hoodie. He looks like the textbook definition of a university student.

“Hey, thanks for coming all the way here. I know—” the boy cuts off and stares at him with wide eyes. “Holy crap, are you Goro Akechi?”

“No,” Goro snarls in a decidedly un-Goro Akechi manner. He did not wake up this morning and put in colored contacts and draw wrinkles all over his skin just for him to still be recognized.

“Are you sure? You look a lot like him. Digging the heterochromia, by the way. New look?” Motherfucker, did he forget to put the other contact in? “I’m not really sure why you’re delivering my fast food, but I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth—are you eating my fries?”

“No,” Goro says as he eats a fry.

The boy stares at him. “You’re not what I expected. I can’t believe you’re the same guy as that famous child actor.”

“Because I’m not Goro Akechi,” Goro snaps. “Are you going to take this or are you going to wait till I finish all the fries?”

The boy grins. “Wow, your customer service skills are great.”

“Thank you very much, sir,” Goro says brightly, and then holds out a hand patiently.

The boy stares at it quizzically for a few moments before placing his own palm in Goro’s. “Um, this is moving a little fast and I do have eight almost-significant others, but I guess I wouldn’t mind if you became the ninth—”

“No, you buffoon.” Goro smacks his hand away. “Give me my tip so I can leave.”

The boy stares at him. “You ate all my fries.”

“Delivery fee,” Goro says.

“I already paid the delivery fee. It was almost double the price of my actual food.” The boy sighs. He still hasn’t let go of Goro’s hand yet. “Fine, if I give you a tip, will you do me a favor?”

“Depends on what it is,” Goro lies like a liar.

“Can you pretend to fake date me?” The boy asks. “Maybe if they see me with someone else, they’ll get the hint and I won’t have to reject them.”

That sounds like the stupidest idea Goro has ever heard. “Hm,” Goro says slowly, trying to give off the impression of actually giving a damn about his problems. “No.”

And then he smiles brightly and shuts the door in his face.

He’s halfway home before he remembers that he never gave the boy his food. And, well, since he already partially started digging into it, he eats the remainder on the way home.

* * *

Unfortunately, the boy doesn’t seem to know when to give up.

The WcDonald’s gets an order for delivery every day after that. “Dude,” Sakamoto says, stuffing five packets of fries into takeout bag. “Is this guy okay?”

Goro doesn’t know, because the boy is rarely home when he makes his deliveries. “He’s fine,” he grits out, scrubbing furiously at the grill. Why Kitagawa felt it was necessary to draw a rendition of the Starry Night in ketchup on the surface is beyond him.

Sakamoto throws another two burgers into the bag. “He’s really getting WcDonald’s on Valentine’s Day. Kinda sad, don’t you think?”

“You are working at WcDonald’s on Valentine’s Day,” Goro points out and takes great pleasure when Sakamoto’s face drops. “There is no need pity others when your own existence is the most miserable.”

“Hey! I’m here to meet new people,” Sakamoto says hotly.

Goro raises his eyebrows and gestures toward the thirty or so old women scattered around the restaurant.

“And you’re here too,” Sakamoto says. “Yusuke! There’s someone in the drive through. Stop wandering off, dude.”

“I’m here because I want to be,” Goro says pleasantly. And then he throws his head out the window. “Welcome to WcDonald’s. What can I get for you?”

There’s the sound of mumbling. Fuck, he hates these types of customers.

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.” Goro smiles as he mentally calculates how many years of prison time he would serve if he went out and popped the customer’s tires.

More mumbling. Goro wants to tear his hair out.

“Could you please repeat that?”

“…” Deep breaths. Calm down. Think of a happy memory, Goro. Oh right, he doesn’t have any. Hm, this could be slightly problematic.

Alright, whatever. He can just make something up. “Four Big Wacs,” he tells Sakamoto, and then smiles at the girl. "Next window, please.”

Before he manages to finish his dreadfully boring customer service spiel about the new two for one combo, he gets unceremoniously shoved aside. “Ah, Futaba,” Kitagawa says. That is either ketchup or blood in his hair. He hopes it’s the latter so that the police will be responsible for cleaning it up instead of him. “Nice to see you.”

Goro is still deciding whether or not he’ll find a dead body—hopefully Sakamoto’s—in the kitchen when Kitagawa rounds on him with a frown. “Please get her order right next time,” he sniffs. “She is allergic to oil. You could have killed her.”

Oil? All oil? Why is she ordering at WcDonald’s then? “Tell Sakamoto then,” Goro says crossly.

“Ryuji, Futaba says if you do not finish the order in one minute, she will be giving the store a one star rating.” Goro’s eye twitches. “And there was a mistake in her order. She would like _three_ Big Wacs.”

Goro takes a deep breath and decides that somehow the boy in the plain apartment is the lesser of two evils. He grabs the bag off the counter and throws his apron off. “I’ll be making this delivery,” he says as he watches Sakamoto start a fire on the stove.

Before he can manage to make it to the door, Kitagawa’s voice floats in from the kitchen. “Excuse me.” He is staring down at the grill with a furrowed forehead. “Where did my painting go?”

* * *

“Oh,” the boy says, looking surprised. “I actually caught you today.”

Goro nearly throws the bag into the boy’s arms and turns to leave, but the boy reaches out and grabs his wrist. “Hey, wait. Stay a bit? I have gifts for you.”

The boy then proceeds to take out a couple burgers and some fries and hands them over to Goro.

Goro eyes them suspiciously, as if Sakamoto’s germs would come phasing out of the food at any second. “What?”

“I mean, I ordered a lot. Did you really think I could finish all this?”

“We are not friends,” Goro sneers, wrenching his arm back. He won the no-friends award in middle school for four years in a row and he is not about to relinquish that title now. “I do not know anything about you besides the fact that you are spineless and cannot say no to anyone.”

“Ouch,” the boy laughs, and then proceeds to close the door behind him and sit down in the hallway. “I’m Akira, by the way.”

Goro rolls his eyes and ignores him. But despite them being terribly misshapen, Goro can admit that fries are something that Sakamoto cannot possibly mess up on. Probably. And free food is free food.

After he moved out of his father’s place and lived by himself, all his money has been funneled into his very expensive and important revenge plan, which involves paying for the university’s criminal printing rates to print out several dozen pictures of his father’s face to unleash hell upon when he’s stressed.

Unfortunately, that also makes him broke.

Akira’s eyes light up when Goro begrudgingly sits down and unwraps a burger. “What should I call you, by the way?”

“Akechi,” Goro says, and then proceeds to swallow the burger whole.

Akira’s staring in horror as Goro finishes drinking his burger and grabs for the fries. “Not to be confused with the famous child actor, Goro Akechi,” he says wryly.

“No,” Goro grimaces. The fries are a little soggy. What the fuck is Sakamoto doing. He gets paid a whole dollar per hour to make sure the fries are cooked to perfection. That is at least double what Goro normally gets tipped.

Akira shrugs and reaches for his own burger and eats it in a very dignified manner. And by dignified Goro means a complete heathen; Akira eats the bun separately first and then reaches for the lettuce. He’s getting ketchup all over his fingers. “Well, I guess it must have been unpleasant there if you chose to work in the food service industry, huh.”

That has to be among the top five most insensitive things he’s heard in his life, which is saying a lot because the previous five were all things Goro has said to various customers. Goro bares his teeth menacingly, and he must have a chunk of meat stuck in his front teeth because Akira physically recoils. “Every day I would wake up and go out to murder the list of men my father gave me.”

“What?” Realization dawns Akira’s eyes. “Oh, you’re talking about the plot of Persona 5, right? I was a really big fan of the show.”

Goro opens his mouth, about to see how many unhinged comments he can make before Akira takes his fast food and retreats back into the apartment, but any semblance of evil he’s trying to project is promptly dashed when his cellphone rings loudly to the melody of the second opening of Featherman Season 5.

Akira hurriedly covers a smile behind his hand and Goro glares at him. His glare intensifies when he sees the name on his screen.

“Spam,” Goro says. And then he picks up anyway.

“Akechi,” booms Masayoshi Shido’s voice from the other end. “You told me you were going to get food and then you didn’t call me back.”

“It’s a long line,” Goro answers offhandedly, and a look of understanding passes over Akira’s face. Goro doesn’t want to know what kinds of conclusions he’s come to.

“That was a week ago.”

“It’s a really long line.” Goro rolls his eyes. “Did you want something?”

“Watch your tone.” There’s some shuffling on the other end of the phone. “The Boscars are next week. You are expected to attend. You should have gotten the instructions in the mail months ago.”

Goro thinks about the mailbox in his apartment that is so stuffed with envelopes that the mailman has been creatively finding new places to stick his mail. Once it was under his doormat. Once it was stuck right outside his window. Once it was put under his toilet seat in the bathroom. He called the cops after that last one.

“You are expected to be on your best behavior.” Shido’s voice drips with disdain, and Goro thinks that if his father could see him sitting on the dirty floor of an apartment hallway licking salt off his fingers, he would have a heart attack. “You have already brought enough shame to the family when you decided to throw your little teenage rebellion and move out. Do you know how much others laughed at me?”

Goro can imagine, because he was one of the people doing the laughing.

Shido rambles more logistics for a bit longer, and Goro is in the middle of thinking of the most patronizing way to refuse the invitation when Akira suddenly scoots closer to him.

And then he started slobbering all over burger bun.

He looks disgusting. He looks like a heathen. He looks like someone Goro is going to throw off the roof of the building in approximately three seconds. What does he think he’s _doing_ , and does he really need to be so loud?

Akira makes a face mid-slobber. “I asked for no pickles,” he whispers, face crestfallen, as if the existence of the pickle was what made this whole situation socially unacceptable.

Before Goro can say anything though, Shido’s voice booms from the cellphone. “Do you have company at the moment? This is extremely indecent and I expected better from you.”

Goro is confused until he sees the self-satisfied smile on Akira’s face, and then everything falls into place. No. No no no. He did not spend all his middle school years losing to his father in mind games only for Shido to get fooled by Akira’s “ploy”.

Akira slobbers over the bun a little more, and for someone who supposedly has dozens of significant others, he has clearly never kissed anyone in his life if he thinks that’s what it sounds like. “Goro,” he says softly, and he looks like he’s trying to hold back a laugh. He takes the hamburger buns and helpfully slaps them together in soft rhythmic thuds. Goro wants to bash his head through the floor. “Who are you talking to?”

Despite the fact that Akira sucks at acting and his voice has absolutely no inflection and his father is one of the most famous directors in the world who watches actors on a daily basis, it seems to do the trick. “Don’t pick up the phone when you are bedding others,” Shido bellows. “I will call you later.”

And then the phone line goes dead.

Goro stares at his phone in disbelief. Akira is whistling happily now and continuing his quest to defile the burger by extracting the patty and snapping it in half with his bare hands.

All those childhood years of being constantly supervised. All those nights when Shido would burst in past midnight and demand Goro recite the lines from his latest role. All those times when his father would sit him down and lecture him for hours about high-class society.

All those moments, and all Goro had to do was pretend to make out with a _hamburger bun_ to get Shido to leave him alone?

“So,” Akira breaks the silence after Goro continues to glare holes into his cellphone. “You’re going to the Boscars.”

Goro’s been to the Boscars twice before, and both times he had to stand behind his father and clap politely while Shido gave his acceptance speech. Goro can think of better ways to spend the evening. Like working at the local WcDonald’s and making sure to give the wrong sauces to annoying customers and then blaming the whole thing on Sakamoto.

“If you’re going, can you take me?” Akira asks nonchalantly, as if he’s asking for a casual dinner meeting instead of an invitation to one of the world’s most exclusive award ceremonies.

Goro stares at him. “Why?”

“If we take a picture together at the ceremony, maybe everyone will think we’re dating and then I won’t have to reject anyone directly,” Akira says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Smart, right?”

Goro takes a deep breath. “Have you considered,” he grits out, “just telling your loving girlfriends _no_?”

“Hey, Mishima is a guy. There’s at least one boyfriend in there.” Akira rubs the back of his neck. “Also, no. Some of them are a little scary.”

“So you think getting an invite to the Boscars is easier. And then standing there for hours and then dealing with the media backlash after about why a random was allowed into the venue is easier than rejecting a couple university students,” Goro deadpans.

“Yeah,” Akira says, face completely serious, and Goro takes a deep breath to calm himself. There are _multiple_ people who are attracted to this?

He rolls his eyes. “You just want to go to the Boscars.”

“Well yeah duh,” Akira laughs. “Have you met Ren Amamiya before? I heard he’s pretty cool.”

Ren Amamiya had been the most annoying and insufferable co-actor that Goro had ever worked with, so it’s not a surprise that Akira seems to like him. “I got to shoot him on set and it was one of the most satisfying moments of my life,” Goro hisses.

“You?” Akira gasps in mock surprise. “But you’re just a delivery man!”

Goro helpfully removes the top bun of the burger before throwing the copiously ketchup-infused patty straight at Akira’s face.

* * *

Goro manages to put the Boscars and Akira out of his mind for approximately twenty seven hours before the guy shows up at his workplace while Goro is in the middle of being grilled about the menu items.

“We don’t have the pumpkin latte anymore, miss,” Goro grits out. “My apologies.”

He barely manages to dodge the wad of spit flying his way. “What do you _mean_ , you don’t have the pumpkin lattes anymore?” The woman screeches way too loudly for someone only five feet away from her. “I was here just last week and I got two of them!”

Considering the fact that the item has been discontinued for over four years now, Goro finds that unlikely. He’s also pretty sure this exact same customer had come here asking for the pumpkin latte last week only to get a completely unrelated tangent from Kitagawa about the pumpkins he used to decorate with his foster father.

Before Goro can commit murder by serving her a blended mixture of mustard and mayonaise, Akira steps in smoothly. “It’s a shame,” he says quietly, looking not at all like the boy who smirked at Goro before eating his hamburger vertically. “I really liked that latte too.”

The lady whirls around. “ _Exactly_ ,” she harrumphs. “How dare they remove the one good item on their menu? They have some nerve.”

Akira laughs softly. “There’s nothing we can do about it,” he shrugs. “If you liked the pumpkin latte, maybe you should try their black coffee? I think they’re pretty similar.”

They are not even remotely similar and this sounds like a terrible idea. However, Goro is reminded of how dumb the world is for the second time in mere days when yet another person goes along with Akira’s stupid suggestions, and the woman ends up leaving the store later with a cup of the most bitter coffee that Goro can ever make.

Akira smiles at him. “So. You never gave me an answer about the Boscars.”

“No,” Goro says shortly.

“But I just helped you,” Akira protests halfheartedly. “If I hadn’t, you would still be here trying to convince her that she wouldn’t be getting a free hamburger for the emotional duress you caused her. And—Ryuji?”

Sakamoto exits the kitchen wearing a tank top under his apron. Goro isn’t sure if that strong, acidic smell is from Sakamoto or their box of expired lettuce sitting in the backroom.

“Yo, Akira!” Sakamoto’s eyes light up, and then he and Akira do the most complicated handshake Goro has ever seen. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to see Akechi,” Akira says. “I didn’t know you were here too—wait, is he the coworker who sneaks in at midnight and steals half the apple pie?”

“I do _what_?” Goro asks coldly, hand inching toward the plastic knife. It unfortunately won’t do any lasting harm, but maybe if he shoves it up Sakamoto’s nose it’ll take a long time to get out.

“No, not him. He’s more of the ‘If you drop a single pickle on the floor, you are going to pay for it out of your own pocket.’” Goro bristles when Sakamoto mimics him in the highest, most screechy voice possible. “You’re thinking about Yusuke.”

“Kitagawa does _what_?”

“The dude’s hungry. Cut him some slack.” Sakamoto looks decidedly unconcerned. “Besides, he doesn’t have any money to pay you back anyway. What’re you going to do?”

“There are other ways to make sure just punishment is served,” Goro says coldly. “I could make him sign a contract that would doom his future descendants to crippling debt. I could inform his landlord about his transgressions and make certain that he will be homeless for the rest of his life. I could—”

“Yeah yeah, we all know you’re really evil and don’t deserve redemption or whatever.” Sakamoto pushes him to the side. “What’re you here to talk to him about? If you wanted milkshake or something, I can get it for you.”

Considering how Sakamoto somehow manages to turn a milkshake into a nuclear weapon, that is not the best idea. Akira seems to realize as well, because he smiles pacifyingly and shakes his head. “No, I’m good, thanks. I’m just here to watch him work.”

Sakamoto throws Goro a look of suspicion. “Him? Why?”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Akira says loudly enough for the whole store to hear. “’But I’m going to the Boscars and I wanted to watch the pro at work.”

Sakamoto’s mouth drops open. “The _Boscars_?! How the eff are you going to get an invite?”

Akira points at him. “Akechi’s going to get me in. Apparently, looking exactly like the famous child actor Goro Akechi can get you places.”

“Goro Akechi? Who’s that, and why does he have the same name as Akechi?”

Oh my god. There is one brain cell in this whole conversation and it is in Goro’s head. “Are you done here?” Goro demands.

“I’m here for research,” Akira explains, and then makes himself comfortable in one of the booths. “I’m here to observe you so I can learn from your actions about how to act at the Boscars.”

Considering how Akira watched him sit in a dirty college apartment hallway and lick ketchup off his fingers, Goro thinks that this probably won’t go the way he thinks it will, but whatever.

Goro spends the next few hours stomping around the store, aware of the eyes drilling into his back the whole time. Sakamoto seems to have taken Akira’s presence as a golden card to slack off, so Goro’s mood is even worse than usual.

He doesn’t really remember much from the shift. It’s pretty typical, as far as working in one of Gorbes Top 100 Worst Workplaces goes. He gets asked for a full refund only twice because the customer didn’t realize that the Big Wac wasn’t vegetarian, so it might even be a slightly better than usual shift.

By the end of the shift, Akira is looking at him like he’s seen a ghost.

“What?” Goro snaps as he angrily scrubs at the floor with a mop. Kitagawa’s supposed to be on cleanup duty today but he’s instead cleaning up the flour explosion he caused in the kitchen, which is very impressive for an establishment that doesn’t believe in using flour or any other kind of fresh ingredients in their foods.

Akira laughs awkwardly. “I thought it was just toward me, but no, you’re really bad at customer service.”

Goro waves the mop at him menacingly and it drips all over Akira’s fries. “I’m delightful. People pay me to leave them alone.”

Sakamoto slides into the opposite booth seat and props him shoes on the table. “Hey, Akira,” he whispers so loudly that even Kitagawa in the kitchen shushes him. “Why are you trying to go to the Boscars again? And with him?”

“Ann says that Haru and Hifumi might confess soon. And maybe Mishima.” Understanding dawns Sakamoto’s eyes immediately and he nods encouragingly. Goro tries to remember who those people are. Is Haru the one he said has several realistic looking axes hidden in her closet? “So I thought that if I went to the Boscars, they would see me with Akechi here and think twice about it.”

“Oh man,” Sakamoto says, and then punches Goro in the arm so hard he drops the mop. “You _gotta_ take him, dude.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” Goro says. “Now get out. It’s past closing time already and I have better things to do with my time.” Like go home and stab a knife through his father’s picture before bed every night. It’s become somewhat of a daily routine for him and it’s strangely domestic.

“You don’t understand. All of them are really scary.” Akira is nodding along passionately to Sakamoto’s statements. “Help a bro out, will you?”

Considering how nothing good has happened in his life ever since he met Akira, Goro is not feeling very inclined. He puts on his best camera-ready smile and says icily “No” and watches with great pleasure as both their faces fall almost comically fast.

Goro sticks his head back in the kitchen. “Kitagawa, time to leave,” he barks. “You better have finished cleaning up already—”

Kitagawa is not finished cleaning. In fact, Kitagawa is spreading the flour on top of the grill in a thin line forming the caricature of something that could definitely get the whole place shut down.

“What are you _doing_?” Goro hisses.

Kitagawa looks up innocently. “Oh, Akechi! I have been cleaning this up for a long time, but it is rather difficult. Could you help me?”

Goro stares in horror as Kitagawa demonstrates his cleaning methods. “Please tell me you’re not trying to pick up the flour one by one.”

Kitagawa has the gall to look confused. “How else would you do it?”

“Um.” Akira pops in, eyes zeroing in on the cocaine strip of flour decorating the grill. “Wow, I didn’t know you guys did that here. You don’t _draw the_ _line_ at this kind of stuff?”

Goro stares at him. Akira smiles back at him. Outside, Sakamoto is hooting loudly. “Nice one!”

Perhaps going back to live with his father is the more pleasant option, after all.

* * *

“There are, uh, a lot of people here,” Akira says eloquently. He’s dressed in his nicest clothes, which is a hoodie and jeans. “I’m getting a little nervous.”

Goro stares at Akira as he wilts when another famous actor glances quizzingly at his dirt stained sneakers. “I’m not sure what you expected.”

“Definitely not you looking like that,” Akira says approvingly, shamelessly ogling Goro’s suit. “I know I called it when we first met, but I was kind of starting to have my doubts. I didn’t think the famous child actor grew up to be someone who—”

“Saved disposable WcDonald’s knives after every takeout just so he could stab them into pictures of his last living relative?” Goro says sweetly.

Akira stares at him. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” Goro bares his teeth menacingly, and then turns around to smile brightly at a nearby actress. “Hello, it’s been awhile. Yes, regrettably I had to take some time away from acting. I hope you are doing well.”

“You’re scary,” Akira says somewhere behind him, and Goro muffles a snort. If he took a look at Goro stabbing a butter knife through a hamburger and somehow thought he was still less scary than whatever human experimentations his significant others must get up to on a daily basis, then Goro must not be trying hard enough.

They shuffle across the ballroom floor. Goro does his best to smile disarmingly and make up random stories about why he hasn’t been seen acting in any movies lately. He tells them about middle aged women who try to bargain pennies during every purchase. He speaks about old men who review bomb the store just because they were given the wrong dipping sauce.

“They think you’re just making this stuff up,” Akira whispers as yet another one of Goro’s old co-actresses smiles pleasantly and dips away, not before shooting a quizzical look in Akira’s direction. “Also, you can speak normally! More than normally. You’re actually really good at talking. Why do you talk like that at WcDonald’s then?”

“I’m full of a lot of pent up anger,” Goro says, and then sees the object of his pent up anger walking straight toward him. “Fuck. Stab me.”

Akira looks at him. “What?”

“I would rather go to the hospital while bleeding out than talk to my father,” Goro hisses.

“And you said I was the one with the bad ideas,” Akira grins and unfortunately makes no move to stab him.

Goro grabs one of the non-plastic non-WcDonald’s knives and waves it around menacingly. “Fine. If you won’t do it, I’ll stab you instead. Jail time will be unfortunate, but my food quality might even increase.”

Akira’s eyes widen as Goro takes a step towards him. “Now let’s calm down—”

“Akechi!” Shido’s voice booms loudly, even over the chattering of the crowd. His arms are crossed and he stares down his nose disapprovingly at the two of them. Next to him is a small girl who Goro vaguely recognizes; she might be one of the actresses in Persona 5? He doesn’t care.

Akira lets out an uncharacteristic swear under his breath. And then, “Is the stabbing plan still on the table?”

Before Goro can say anything, Shido takes a step forward so that he is way too close to Goro and towers over him intimidatingly, the smell of expensive cologne wafting off him in waves. “I have someone to introduce to you. You remember Haru Okumura, of course. The esteemed and exceptional actress for Noir.”

Goro doesn’t remember anything from those days except trying to switch out the fake model gun with a real one so he could shoot Ren Amamiya’s smug grin off his face. “Of course,” he says smoothly, turning to face her so he doesn’t need to look at his father wearing sunglasses indoors. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance again, Miss Okumura.”

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Haru says brightly, looking not at all like a girl being definitely coerced into a blind date. Goro’s almost impressed. “I’m really honored that you remember me! You were one of the role models I looked up to so much back then and—Akira?”

Akira’s in the middle of trying to use Goro’s body as a shield to run away, and his head snaps up guiltily when his name is called. “Uh, hey Haru. Fancy seeing you here.”

“Do you two know each other?” Goro asks.

Akira’s eyes dart frantically between the two of them. “Yeah um. You know.”

“Oh,” Goro says. “You’re one of his—mrpgh!”

Akira slaps a hand over Goro’s mouth so hard it makes a loud smacking sound that echoes throughout the hall. “Hahahah. Yeah. Small world, huh?” He winces as Goro bites his hand but he still frustratingly doesn’t remove it. “What are you doing here, Haru?”

“I was nominated for a couple awards,” Haru says pleasantly. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“Just here with Akechi here,” Akira says. “I was kind of nervous about showing up here, but he begged me so I had to come support him, you know?” He tries not to wince when Goro kicks him in the shins.

Haru claps her hands together excitedly. “That’s so sweet!”

Goro frowns. She doesn’t look like she’s in any way jealous of their supposed ‘relationship’.

But before he can pursue this line of thinking any further, Shido does what he does best and inserts himself forcibly into the conversation. “Who are you?” he asks, glaring down at Akira.

“Akira Kurusu,” Akira says smoothly. He grabs Goro’s hands boldly and then has the nerve to look bashful. “Um. I’m your son’s. Uh. You know.”

Goro rolls his eyes. “We are in a relationship,” he says, and then squeezes Akira’s hand so hard the other boy winces. He adds helpfully, “Also I am pursuing my passion and working at the local WcDonald’s.”

Haru looks excited, but Shido looks like he’s going to pop a vein. His face alternates between his two expressions of irritated and super irritated, and he eventually settles for a glare. “Never show your face to me again,” Shido booms, and Goro wonders if being disowned gives him a special pass to skip the annual family reunion dinner where he and Shido sit at a table together and trash talk the other all night.

“Is it going to be okay?” Akira murmurs.

Goro rolls his eyes. “It’s fine. To be completely honest with you, I’m certain it was the WcDonald’s part that truly broke him.”

“Excuse me!” Haru’s voice chirps. She looks absolutely delighted, her eyes shining as she looks between the two of them. “I wasn’t aware that you two knew each other, but I’m so glad to be able to witness the bond you share. I will be rooting for you!”

“What?” Akira looks surprised. “Wait, sorry, you did this out of order. I’m supposed to introduce Akechi to you. And then apologize.”

“Apologize?” Haru blinks. “Whatever for?”

“Well.” Akira rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “It means that I can’t, well, return your feelings. Since I’m already with him. Uh. So I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad. Even though I know I deserve your anger. Um. Sorry.”

God this is so painful. Goro would rather get his nails peeled off one by one instead of listen to this.

“Oh,” Haru says slowly, as if walking on eggshells. “I’m sorry, I think you may have gotten the wrong idea.”

* * *

**Akira:** hey, do you like me

**Makoto:** Good morning, Akira.

**Makoto:** What do you mean? I consider you a good friend.

**Akira:** no i mean

**Akira:** do you _like_ like me

**Makoto:** …

**Makoto:** Akira, I have been in love with Haru for years now. I thought you knew this.

**Akira:** ah

* * *

**Akira:** i’m guessing you don’t like me romantically either

**Hifumi:** Romantically? Is this meant to be a confession?

**Hifumi:** I’m sorry if I came off that way and gave you the wrong impression. However, I am not interested in you in that way and will unfortunately have to turn down your confession.

**Hifumi:** I promise that it’s not you, it’s me. You are a wonderful person.

**Hifumi:** I am sure that you will be able to find someone who cherishes you as much as you deserve to be cherished.

**Akira:** hifumi it’s really fine, please stop quoting the top ten moogle results at me

* * *

**Akira:** who are you trying to ask out

**Futaba:** wtf

**Akira:** i’m guessing you don’t like me either

**Futaba:** ew no you’re like my brother

**Futaba:** i’m trying to ask kasumi out dumb dumb

**Futaba:** i thought hanging out with you more would give me more practice at social interaction

**Futaba:** what, did you start catching feelings?

**Akira:** oh my god

**Akira:** why were the confidant ranks so romantic if i was being friendzoned!!

**Futaba:** the what ranks

* * *

**Akira:** WHY DID YOU TELL ME THEY WERE ALL INTERESTED IN ME

**Akira:** NONE OF THEM ARE

**Ann:** Wait really?? I really thought they were

**Akira:** ann. ANN. i’m never going to forgive you

**Akira:** i made a fool of myself

**Ann:** Omg I’m so sorry

**Ann:** To be fair, I’ve been ‘in a complicated relationship’ on Legbook for years. It’s your fault for believing me!

**Akira:** ughhhhhhhhhh

* * *

**Mishima:** Do you want to go out on a date next weekend? I’m ready to make it official if you are.

**Mishima:** Akira?

* * *

**Goro:** You’re an idiot.

**Akira:** i know

**Author's Note:**

> thus ends my holiday fics. happy holidays, everyone!!
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/nagittos)


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